It has officially been a week since I last updated! The plan is to update once a week, so things should move along quite nicely! ^_^ Thank you to Naked Brothers Band Forever for following, reviewing, and adding this story to her favorites! It means so much! Also, a quick note: The Mr. Timmerman in this chapter is not one of the Adorable Timmerman Brothers. Since I hadn't planned on putting them in this story, I decided to use their last name, that way at least they'd be mentioned somewhat. XD
Enjoy chapter two! :D
Chapter Two
Of Running Late and Love With Hate
It was the first day of classes and, already, only one word rang through the mind of Thomas Batuello: Crap.
He snatched a cello case off the floor and fumbled about the darkness of his room to find his shoes, shoving them onto his feet. It took him several moments to reach the door, for he was now stumbling over the stuff he'd left scattered across the room the night before. Thankfully, his roommate had yet to arrive and therefore he could make himself right at home here, even if that meant trashing the room on the first night there.
He darted out the door and, before he knew it, he was racing out of Westford Hall and across campus, his feet pounding against the pavement. He couldn't believe himself. Had he slept through the alarm clock, forgotten to set it? This was the first day of classes, the first day of sophomore year at Brooklyn Arts Academy, and he was already late for class. Mr. Timmerman was going to kill him. No - worse - his classmates were going to kill him. Those fancy-pants cellists were too picky for their own good, too committed to have class interrupted by a slacking over sleeper like Thomas himself.
It was thirty minutes past eight when Thomas burst through the doors of Mr. Timmerman's classroom, struggling to catch his breath and his long hair a tangled mess atop his head. All eyes were on him and, now, the low melodies of what had been a cello solo were replaced with an eerie, unnerving silence.
"My bad," Thomas muttered, adjusting the cello case on his back.
Mr. Timmerman took a deep breath, as though he would burst into a million frustrated pieces if he didn't. "Mr. Batuello." He spoke and the anger was almost palpable. "I see not much has changed since last year. I was hoping you would have used your summer break to . . . better yourself."
He grinned at this. "C'mon, Mr. T. I'm only thirty minutes late."
"To a forty minute class."
"Hey, it's better than last year."
Mr. Timmerman frowned. "Yes, at least you showed up."
"Yes, at least I did."
The older man rolled his eyes and stifled a sigh. "You may take your seat now, Mr. Batuello. In case you were wondering, it is the only empty seat in the classroom. Next to Miss Tai."
Thomas hoped the surprise wasn't evident on his face, but, even so, he found it hard to get over the initial shock of earning a seat next to Rosalina Tai. As far as punishments went, this was by far the worst. Had Mr. Timmerman planned this? Or had this come from the devious mind of Brooklyn Arts Academy's star pupil herself? He wouldn't put it past her. After all, there had to be horns somewhere behind that good girl facade she wore.
Rosalina Tai had been attending BAA for four years now. Starting as a foreign exchange student from Seoul, South Korea, she knew very little English and spent most of her time immersed in her music. And as her language skills slowly improved, her musical abilities grew by leaps and bounds. Some said it was because South Koreans were taught to work hard in school, spending countless hours a day studying, but Thomas believed she had an uncontrollable urge to be better than everyone else.
He'd never liked her, not that they'd ever spoken to one another. They lived on opposite ends of the spectrum - she lived to play music, he lived to have fun; the cello was her life, it was his prison. They would never understand one another - it was just the way things worked.
He avoided her gaze as he took a seat to her right, setting the cello on the floor next to him. The person at the front of the room - a boy with spiky brown hair - finished up the solo and, before Thomas knew it, the bell was ringing, signaling his next class. He stood, gathering his things.
"One moment, class," came the voice of Mr. Timmerman and everyone froze, except for Thomas, who was adjusting the backpack over his shoulder. "To start the year off, you will receive only one assignment. I have paired each of you up with partners. You will have approximately one week to compose an original piece written and performed by both of you. Not only will this require great effort and teamwork, but it will show me where each of you are and whether or not you practiced over the summer. The sheet of partners will be on my desk - check it as you leave." Thomas couldn't be sure, but he was pretty positive Mr. Timmerman was staring him down right then.
The class leaped back into action, teenagers shuffling toward the exit in a rush. Thomas didn't care - or, rather, didn't want to know - but he couldn't resist glancing at the paper before he left the room. He'd been almost sure he'd get paired up with Rosalina (after all, Mr. Timmerman had picked the partners), but that wasn't what happened at all.
Batuello, Thomas - Ross, Amy.
He grinned as he exited the classroom. He hadn't been paired with Rosalina Tai. Nope, instead, he had been paired with the blond haired beauty, Amy Ross. Suddenly he wasn't dreading the assignment at all. He wasn't partnered with Miss Perfection and, even better, he'd get to spend hours of his spare time with the hottest girl in school.
Sorry, Rosalina. He'd write a song with Amy Ross any day.
They say the first day of anything is the worst; everything's new, you're more apt to make mistakes, and, worst of all, no one knows who you are, meaning good first impressions are crucial, to say the the least. Nat Wolff knew this better than anyone. He'd had to suffer through nerve wracking auditions and crowds who refused to move. He'd received blank stares and looks of bewilderment. However, through those things, he'd learned to keep trying, to keep playing music when things got tough. He'd learned to be himself, even when it wasn't easy. And oh, was it never easy.
Take now for instance: There he sat, in the midst of a large classroom. This would have been just like any other class at his old school - an average teacher stood at the front of an average room and taught an average lesson to average students who pretended to listen.
However, there was only problem: Nat Wolff wasn't average. And, apparently, the entire class realized that, for all eyes were on the young man in the center of the room. He tried to ignore the stares of his fellow students, to stay focused, but that proved to be quite difficult with the first two rows of people completely turned around in their seats. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from a school full of musicians, but this hadn't been it. He was just a student, like them. Was that so hard to understand?
The teacher eventually decided to end class early when it was clear no one was paying attention. This, thankfully, left Nat with a little free time before yet another hour of constant staring and whispering.
He wasn't sure why, but he'd imagined life at this place to be a little different. It hadn't occurred to him that his fame would follow him here. It certainly made making friends a whole lot harder. Of course, his roommate had been pretty nice (you know, after the shock of sharing a room with a Wolff Brother wore off), but Nat had imagined things to go a lot smoother and, thus far, they had not.
He checked his phone. He'd missed countless calls from Alex the night before, but he'd been unable to get a word in edgewise for the hour David Levi had, uncharacteristically, chattered away about music. Nat would have to be sure to make it up to his brother somehow. In the meantime, though, he had fifteen minutes before his next class. Perhaps he'd sneak into one of the practice rooms for some alone time, since it was obvious he wouldn't be getting any any time soon.
He spent several minutes opening and closing doors until he finally found one with a piano inside. It was a grand piano, black with ivory keys and the shiniest surface Nat had ever laid eyes on. Shutting the door behind him, he started across the room, eyes scanning over every last inch of the beautiful instrument. The silence of the room was a welcome change from the chaos of the rest of the school and, as he took a seat on the bench, he felt a peace wash over him. Sure, it wasn't home, but it was quiet and that was all he needed.
He ran his fingers over the keys. They felt familiar, as though his fingers had already spent many hours dancing across them, as though he'd been here before, as though he were home.
He pressed a key, allowing the G to cut through the air like a sharp blade. It resonated throughout the room, followed by a D that caused his heart to sing. Another note, then another and, suddenly, his fingers were a blur across the keys, the sound heightening in an attempt to escape the piano, to escape his soul.
He played harder and closed his eyes now, shaking his head as he began to sing,
"I'll intend the August sun,
The light shines on your eyes,
And I have won,
I have won.
In a day of sadness,
When my self esteem is lowest,
There you are,
I have won."
His fingers continued to move, the melody repeating itself as he lost himself in the music. He had been writing this song for quite some time now. The melody had been stuck in his head for weeks before he'd finally decided to add lyrics to it. He had no idea where this song had come from, nor who it was for, but it'd never sounded more beautiful than it did now, in an empty practice room, just he and the piano becoming one in an odd and beautiful way.
"I have won the greatest prize,
Just to look into your eyes.
Never look away,
I'll never leave this place,
If you're still standing here,
Then I can see your face.
I have won the greatest prize.
Oh, I am in my paradise."
In all honesty, he hadn't written much more of the song. It was a work in progress, but it was one of the last songs he'd written before leaving home to come to Brooklyn and he enjoyed it.
Experimenting with different chords and lyrics, Nat found himself so lost in the music that he hadn't even noticed the door to the practice room swing open. He closed his eyes and hummed softly to himself as he played.
This was why he'd come to BAA; not because of the fame, or the fans, but this - this sound, this song, this peace. He came to enhance his musical abilities, not show them off. He came to spend quiet afternoons in practice rooms alone with a piano. He came to get lost in the music, not the chaos.
Once he had finished and the final note rang through the still air, a sudden applause rose from across the room and his eyes snapped open. Standing there, in front of the doorway, were two guys, maybe two or three years older than Nat himself, garbed in dark clothing and eyeliner. "Nice job, mate," the taller of the two said and Nat knew he'd recognize that voice anywhere.
Bobby Love.
Once popular among mainly preteen girls, Bobby's fame had grown throughout the years, getting the attention of adults and teenagers as well. Girls were constantly swooning over him and Nat had met him once, several years back at a benefit concert he and Alex had played at. Bobby was okay, maybe not the nicest guy on the planet, but okay. What was he doing at Brooklyn Arts?
"Bobby." Nat tried to hide the surprise laced in his voice. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." If that smug look ever left his face, Nat couldn't tell. "Didn't know you'd be here, Wolff." Was that resentment Nat detected, or had he imagined it?
"Yeah. Alex and I-"
"Your brother?" Bobby interrupted, brown eyes narrowing. "You are both attending?"
"Yeah. Alex actually got a scholarship, early admission and everything." He smiled. "What are you doing here?"
Bobby crossed the room now, his friend following close behind him. "The headmaster invited me to come. He said he felt the students would learn more if given lessons by a successful lad like myself." He placed a hand to his chest, as if to reiterate his point. "You know, for me, it really is all about the kids. They dream of becoming musicians and, if my talent can help their dreams come true, then of course I'll be here."
He let that sink in for a moment - a long, awkward moment in which Nat just stared at him, waiting for him to say more. "I'm not doing much just yet," Bobby went on, "mainly helping young guitarists realize their potential, but the headmaster wants me to branch out and start helping with other classes, maybe even give private lessons."
Nat nodded. "That's nice."
Bobby obviously agreed, but at least he never said so. "Well, will you and your brother be studying here full time, or is this a short term sort of thing?"
"I'm a sophomore now, so I'll only be staying for two years, but Alex will finish up middle school early and then be here for four." He stood now, grabbing his backpack from the floor. "Well, guys, I better head to-"
"Odd the school sees fit to have so many celebrities roaming about," Bobby mused. "You would think with Bobby Love and both Wolff Brothers here, the students would become . . . Distracted."
Nat agreed the students were far more distracted than they should be, but why did it seem Bobby was implying something else here?
"Not a great learning environment, if you ask me." Bobby smiled and, for a moment, Nat almost thought he was sincere. "Just give it time, mate. Sooner or later, they will realize that this place just isn't big enough for the three of us."
And with that, he gave Nat a warm smile and a hard pat on the shoulder, starting toward the exit. "See you later, mate."
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)
